Friday, February 26, 2010
The Gift of The... well, Let's Just Call It The Gift
I reluctantly walk to the playroom, and sure enough, there is a little round nugget sitting smack dab in the middle of the floor, like a marble from the wrong side of the tracks.
"Who does this belong to?" I say through clenched teeth, as if ownership matters.
Three sets of blinking eyes look up at me: Greta, Finn and Casper, our dog. "Not me," Greta and Finn say simultaneously. The dog perks her ears up and cocks her head, as if to say "I'm too cute to do something like that. Can I have some cheese?"
Every inch of today has been a struggle, and I'm feeling sorry for myself.
It took ten minutes to put Finn's shoes on this morning, because he had a meltdown after I put his left shoe on first. "NOOOOOOO. DA OTHER SHOOOOOOOE FIRST! WAAAAAH!" he sobbed over and over, curled in a tight little ball and refusing to budge. Greta's self-selected outfit would have looked beautiful on Easter, but not a stormy, rainy freezing day in February. Subsequent outfit selections are only marginally better, and she almost misses the bus.
After school I battle with Greta about doing her homework, with Finn about the appropriate places to draw: NOT on the dog, your body or the wall, please, just on paper. He finds the loophole and draws a rainstorm - on paper - with a dark blue marker he punches through the paper making dark round stains on the carpet. I send him crying to his room, amending my ruling: and not on the carpet, only on the TABLE!
Because of less-than-stellar behavior I ban the television and computer for the rest of the day; this proves to punish only me because they follow me around, whining that there is no food in the house, nothing to do, I'm a Horrible Mean Mother.
We have a grocery delivery service. Ordinarily, this is the best thing that ever happened to me - they bring your groceries right into your house! - but due to torrential winds and rain the delivery guy is late. Really late. There is, quite literally, nothing to serve for dinner. Steve is away on a business trip; no reinforcements are forthcoming. The whining and complaining escalates, and I lock myself in the bathroom, count to ten and try to ground myself.
That's when they make their pronouncement about the unclaimed fecal matter on the floor.